


does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?

by thewestwinged



Series: sumo oneshots [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, THIS ISNT SHIP SHIT DONT BE NASTY, moon has 50 dads now and guzma is reluctantly one of them, moon is just consistently gay for lillie even when she isnt there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestwinged/pseuds/thewestwinged
Summary: the beach is dead quiet and moon misses lillie more than anything in the world. there’s only one other person she can talk to. but they’re not on the best of terms.(ultra space won't leave moon alone)





	does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?

The battle finishes in an explosion of brilliant light, bright blue against the dark of the night sky. Moon covers the top half of her face, squinting, as the remaining water from  _ Oceanic Operetta _ showers down over Hau’oli City’s beachfront. It leaves both her and her opponent soaking wet, and her Primarina the only Pokemon left standing. 

“Good boy,” Moon coos, rubbing behind the sea lion Pokemon’s ears. He whistles in response, bouncing his pink nose against her waist. There’s no argument about returning to his Pokeball, tonight. He’s all tuckered out.

It’s strange - her opponent is never this quiet, after a battle. He always has something to complain about, or some grudging statement of respect to force through gritted teeth, some jarringly open confession he demands she never speak of again.

She glances up, out towards the horizon.

Guzma is sitting on the sand, water lapping gently over his legs. His sweatpants are rolled up, smudged shoes discarded somewhere behind the dunes, yellow glasses perched on top of his hair. She can’t see his face, but he’s probably brooding, or something. That’s one thing they have in common.

“Gimme your jacket,” Moon calls out, making her way over.

Guzma twists his head to look back at her, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

She holds out a hand, trying for an honest smile. “Cause I don’t wanna sit in the sand. I like these shorts.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, but doesn’t. Just shrugs off the jacket and places it on the sand beside him.

She sits.

The buzz of the battle is starting to wear off. Moon digs her fingernails into her palm, a desperate attempt at delaying the exhaustion that creeps along her eyelids. She’s dreamed of nothing but icy jellyfish for three nights straight. “Almost got me this time,” she says.

“You should head home, kid,” Guzma says.

“Can’t,” Moon says. “Can’t sleep.”

He laughs at that, quiet, tilting his head down. He looks kind of terrible. “You think I’m gonna fix that for you, huh?”

It’s not really a question, and Moon doesn’t have an answer, if it was. She misses Lillie. Lillie is sunshine and Saturdays and talking to her is the easiest thing in the world. Guzma is… something, for sure. Something snapped in a whole lot of places, almost irredeemably screwed up, but in the end they were both in Ultra Space and they both have the dreams and Lillie is so far away it hurts to think about.

An involuntary sob catches in her throat, and it  _ sucks _ , but it’s sort of funny. Guzma is probably hilariously unequipped to deal with a crying child. The thought keeps the tears at bay for a second or two, but then the weight of it all comes crashing back down and she can’t breathe, she’s never going to be able to sleep again, she’s all smashed up inside -

“Shit, kid,” Guzma says. “Uh - I mean dang.” His voice isn’t wet, but it’s wet-adjacent, like he’d been ready to cry, too, and then she’d gone and scared him out of it. “Do you, uh. Do you want a tissue?”

Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head, hand clapping over her mouth to silence the next sob. She barely understands why she’s crying, at this point, just a terrible mixture of frustration and sadness and fear, warring in her stomach. The wind whips at her face, sand and salt hitting her eyes, and she winces away from the assault.

Guzma’s next words are hesitant, slow. “Do you want a hug?”

It’s exactly the last thing Moon would have ever expected him to say to her, so startling it almost shocks her out of her tears. She considers, swallowing around the giant lump in her throat, cringing away from another volley of sand. She nods.

A pair of warm arms wrap around her shoulders, just tight enough for her to feel them. Moon shoves the feelings of humiliation off for Tomorrow Moon to deal with, rests her forehead on Guzma’s shoulder, gasping through her teeth, arms tucked in on herself. He taps out a slow rhythm against her elbow, probably a nervous tick, but it helps to steady her breathing.

“That’s it,” he says, from above. “Uh, you’re doin’ great, kid.”

They sit there, for a long moment. Moon breathes like she’s hanging from the back of a moving Mudsdale, concentrating on the warm, the consistent tap on her elbow. When her foot starts to fall asleep, she shifts, swiping a hand over her eyes.

“Sorry,” Guzma says. “I’m, uh. Not great at that. Was always Plumes who stuck with the kids at the Shady House.”

“You’re better than Soph,” Moon says, eyes locked on the sand. “One time we were watching Marill and Me and I started crying towards the end and he just stood up and left.”

Guzma snorts. “You’re kidding.”

“No, honest.” Moon grins. “He came back twenty minutes later with a Pinap Juice.”

They’ve moved back to their earlier position - her sitting cross-legged on his jacket, him next to her, both of them staring at the dark ocean. Tentative, and  _ so _ exhausted, Moon rests against his side. 

“You’re the strongest kid I know,” Guzma says. His voice is oddly scratchy, against the relative silence of the night. “If anyone can get through this...” He trials off, pauses. “An’ if you ever need a life-size jellyfish to beat up, well, Guzma’s your boy.”

“Might take you up on that,” Moon says. She wipes the last of her tears away, balls up the jacket beneath her and rests her head on it, stretching her feet out behind her.

“Hey!” Guzma protests. “My jacket ain’t a pillow.” But he doesn’t shove her legs away, and she takes that as a win.

She’ll dream, probably. She finds the thought isn’t as scary as it was before.

**Author's Note:**

> some pokemon stuff is like. kinda intense shit for an 11 year old Childe so?????? take this i guess  
> for any1 reading this: dont got much but i got heart and soul is gonna update at some point for sure!! its Not Dead i promise  
> hhhhhh thats it! 
> 
> follow me on tumblr! :^) www.cassiecillian.tumblr.com


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